


Half Smiling

by TheManSings



Series: the next day and forever after that [2]
Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:35:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManSings/pseuds/TheManSings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian comes home to find that Mickey is not alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Smiling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MintSauce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/gifts), [theplotholesmademedoit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplotholesmademedoit/gifts).



> The toy story reference was inspired by mintsauce's beautiful fic that is part of her 'all the ways mandy finds out' series. Seriously if you're not reading everything she writes then you're doing something wrong. Also it is officially a headcanon of mine now that Ian and Mickey have both at some point in their lives watched toy story.

“What is that?”

Ian stood in the doorway; eyes transfixed on the table Mickey currently had his feet kicked up on. The dirt dried on the red soles of his sneakers looked like a scab. Two giant scabs on each foot like a neon sign saying _stay back, cannot tread lightly_.

He leaned over and toed at the sandwich on the plate. It had been shit – their turkey had gone bad. “A really bad sandwich. Do you want it?”

Ian stood still, like he was afraid. Like one movement would set something in motion. He had a hole in the seam of his tshirt – right on the shoulder. Mickey wondered if he’d noticed it. It wasn’t really noticeable, he guessed.

He doesn’t know what’s normal to notice on Gallagher anymore.

“Mickey –“ His name came out wary.

“Jesus fuck you don’t _have_ to eat it.”

He swung his legs down and cringed at the sound of unused cracking bones. Picking up the sandwich he sniffed it one more time for good measure before chucking the whole thing in the trash. How he’d even managed to make it before realizing it was rotten was beyond him.

The door clicked shut and the shuffle of Ian’s sweatshirt made Mickey’s shoulder relax. He didn’t realize how tense he was until he wasn’t anymore. It’s like being drunk or in love. You’ll never appreciate that intensity until it’s gone and you better _hope_ and _pray_ you don’t want it back.

Because it’s not coming back, not as good as before.

“Mick –“

He reached into the refrigerator and thread his fingers around the necks of two beer bottles. The clink of glass sounded louder considering how fucking quiet the red head was being.

“Gallagher –“ Mickey bit his lip and closed his eyes before taking a breath. “Ian.”

 _Thump, thump, thump –_ the rhythm started strumming against the floor by his feet.

Ian tossed the sweatshirt onto the couch. His face was a mask of unreadable composure that was trying incredibly hard not to crack.

_Thump, thump, thump._

Long legs walked toward him and Mickey thrust out a beer in Ian’s direction. But he wasn’t close enough yet and his arm was at least 3 feet shy from his torso so now his muscles only twitched. Calling him an idiot and reminding smugly that you can never count your chickens before they hatch – or calculate distance appropriately with a clouded brain – same difference.

So his wrist fucking ached now but he couldn’t just take back the motion and Ian was still staring at him. “What?”

_Thump, thump, thump._

Ian reached across slowly taking the beer and now adverting his eyes again to Mickey’s feet. “Is uh—“ The bottle tipped in the direction of the floor. “Is that ours?”

The golden retriever stopped licking Mickey’s pants and turned now toward Ian’s voice. Its tail thumped harder and faster at the prospect of more attention. Mickey popped the cap off and took a long swig before shrugging his shoulders. “Yea I guess.”

“You _guess?_ ” Ian asked incredulously. “Mickey what the fuck you bought a dog?”

“Fuck no!” The older man flipped him off and reached down to mindlessly ruffle the fur on the retriever’s head. A long pink tongue swirled around his hand and Mickey jumped pulling it back making a face of disgust. “I found him.”

Ian’s mouth opened and closed making little smacks with his lips. “You found him? What the hell Mick he could have fleas or like – rabies or some shit.”

“Rex does not have _fleas_.” Mickey glared and walked back over to the couch.

The golden stood up slipping on the floor and scratched awkwardly with nails clicking and clawing on the linoleum until he regained his footing. Each paw padded cheerfully before a jingle of movement rang out and he jumped up onto the couch next to where Mickey was now sprawled.

“You named him?” Ian moved back around to stand in front of him. “Did you get him tags?” He took another step and craned his neck with narrowed eyes. “Is that a custom collar?”

Mickey didn’t say anything. His fingers flexing tighter and turning white in small blotched patches as he kept chewing his lip like he might swallow it.

“What you want him to get lost and like –“ He threw his hands up in an action that definitely looked about half as flustered as he felt. “Puppy raped or something?”

“Puppy raped?”

“Fuck you.”

The dog whined and nudged his nose closer into Mickey’s thigh eliciting a belly rub. Ian puffed out a breath and rubbed circles over his forehead like he was staving off a migraine.

Their apartment looked different than when he had left that morning. He couldn’t exactly place his finger on it – but the scattered array of clothes shed in blind grabs of ecstasy were now in a pile. They weren’t folded or put away by any means but still somehow seemed more orderly. Ian could swear he’d seen it before, the memory tugging at his mind saying _you know this c’mon_. And then it was so blindingly obvious; it looked exactly like home, like after Fiona screamed at them that Liam had almost choked on something someone left out too low and easily accessible.

Mickey had baby proofed the house, Southside style.

Ian’s body slipped down now onto the other side of the dog and he could see the quick look thrown at him from alarmingly pensive and – nervous? Yea, nervous eyes.

Ian’s fingers fell lightly onto the coat of fur and lingered. “You named him Rex?” A smile began to pull at the corner of his mouth and Mickey’s face fell. “Like Toy Story? Like a pixar character?”

He sucked in his cheeks and scrunched his features to show that no this was _not_ funny and fuck no he did _not_ name this dog after a scaredy cat shit t-rex toy in a pixar movie.

“It’s Disney too.” Shit. “You know what I mean. Don’t pretend you haven’t watched it a thousand times with those runts back home.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender.

Mickey jumped up and Rex raised his head in disapproval at the now absent space next to him. Ian slowly started to knot his fingers deeper into the golden fur. “How long was I even gone for?”

“I don’t know I don’t count the minutes.” He does. Ian was gone for 6 hours and 32 minutes exactly. Rex gave Mickey a look like he should know that – it’s all he’d been talking about all day.

“And you got a dog in the time that I left for work.”

He spun around from the corner of their living room and really he wasn’t _going_ anywhere he was just jumpy. Because Mickey hadn’t really thought about Ian’s reaction and maybe he did get a dog but so what? Who said they couldn’t have a dog? Some of the most badass mother-fuckers he’d ever been screwed over by had dogs and it didn’t mean _anything_.

“Yes I got a fucking dog during the time you left for your shitty ass job at that shitty ass restaurant.” He could feel the flush crawling up his cheeks, a beautiful rage. “And do you want to know what else I did during that time?” Ian stayed comfortably languid on the cushions still mindlessly petting Rex and even looking like he was comforted by the canine’s presence. “I took a piss and I jacked off and I went for a run because I’m jumping out of my skin every time you leave and I need to do _something_ or else I will tear my fucking hair out –“

Rex barked and panted like the monologue was masterful. –“I found a dog and I named him Rex. I got him a fucking collar and then I came home and made a really bad sandwich and all the while thought about whether or not you would care that I brought a dog home and I don’t care about shit like that Ian! I don’t because why should I? But you – you just sit in my head and poke around like that and that –“

Ian furrowed his eyes and made creases in his skin that would stay and last and remind Mickey of every time he made him sad. “That what?”

He looked up toward the ceiling laughing but it sounded like an echo of the happiness he’s still got tethered inside with a chain.

“That pisses me off.”

Ian nodded while moving his hand to scratch at the floppy ears of the dog now stretching into his motions. “You know he’s kinda cute.” Mickey quirked an eyebrow. “I mean I don’t know shit about dogs but it can’t be that hard right?”

Mickey slunk back over to his empty spot on the couch and _thump thump thump_. Rex rolled his eyes over toward him giving a huff of a sigh.

Ian laughed and it almost made Mickey cry because it was _Ian’s laugh_. The laugh that he’d spit on so many times before it started to sound hollow. The same sound that he could swear he hears somewhere deep in the confines of his dreams and it was the greatest sound he’d ever heard.

The calloused fingers were now more so engrossed in the animal and a shit eating grin flickered in and out. It begged to be felt again.

Mickey reached out his hand to pat Rex on the nose and god it felt _normal_. No sprints of nightmares running through their heads or pulls of agony clouding their faces.

A smile threatened to break through his cracked, dried lips and he was okay with the fact that he was lying to Ian. Okay with the fact that Rex hadn’t been found but had been picked and researched and fucking worth _every_ penny.

Because Ian didn’t need to know this dog was for him. Didn’t need to know about the countless hours of research and dumb conversations Mickey had had with people at work about therapy dogs.

He just needed to keep half smiling.


End file.
